This time she brought home with her a brand-new sewing machine. It was this that had made her business more successful than ever before. For the first time she had enough orders to keep her employed through the winter months and enough money to buy her brother a present: a cuckoo clock.

The blacksmith looked at it, amazed. He had never seen one before.

‘Does it work?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Flora, laughing.

Her brother held it as if it were made of glass rather than wood and with great care hung it on the kitchen wall. His face lit up like that of a child when the wooden bird cuckooed. Such a strange noise, Flora thought, to hear at this quiet hour. The blacksmith sat at the kitchen table, mesmerised by the clock. Almost in a whisper, as if words might frighten the wooden bird away, he said, ‘I’ve cooked a meal for us.’

Flora smiled to herself. She was always impressed by how tidy and clean her brother kept the house. She said she was going to change her clothes, adding, ‘I’ve so much to tell you.’

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said. ‘Stand in the light a moment.’ Flora moved to the fire. The blacksmith said, almost to himself, ‘You look beautiful.’ And then his face clouded. ‘Is there enough money? You bought a sewing machine and a cuckoo clock.’

‘I wouldn’t have done if there hadn’t been enough,’ she said and took a fat package from her bag and put it on the kitchen table.

‘What would I do without you?’ said the blacksmith.

They were having breakfast the following morning when Flora looked up and in the gloom of the new day saw the butcher standing in the middle of their yard.

‘What’s he doing here?’ asked Flora.

‘I should have told you last night,’ said her brother. ‘But with the cuckoo clock and all, I forgot.’

There was a knock on the kitchen door and the butcher came in.

‘Good morning,’ he said. He looked at Flora. ‘You’re back?’

There was little point in answering such a foolish question.

‘That’s as it should be,’ said the butcher.

She had never liked this man. He was crude and a bully. Her brother’s face remained expressionless. Reluctantly she offered the butcher a cup of coffee.

‘I can’t stay. I’ve come to ask you to go and see Edith.’

‘Edith?’ repeated Flora. It seemed a strange request. She couldn’t think why he would want her to visit Edith.

‘I’m going to see her today,’ said Flora.

The butcher looked awkward and went to study the cuckoo clock.

‘Does it make a noise?’ he asked.

‘It does,’ said the blacksmith.

‘Must have cost a pretty penny,’ said the butcher, ‘for some bits of carved wood.’